Waiting For Rain
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: An old, pointless fic I did in Quatre's POV... years after the war, he's lost the reasons to go on. Will this day be any different? (Yes... it's bad... -_-;; Oh! And a few bits of shounen ai, 1+2...)


Waiting For Rain  
  
By Kay  
  
Disclaimer: I wish I owned them. I don't. -_- The world hates me.  
  
Author's Notes: Ayi, it's just a Quatre fic... where he reaches something of an understanding... Years after the war. Hints of shounen ai in the last bits. ^_^;; I wrote this when I was in writer's block- so it sucks. ::giggles:: S'rry! It's just- I couldn't just delete it! So I figured, I'd throw it out anyway... I did like a few bits in it. But not the rest.  
  
... ::sweatdrops:: Yes, it's pointless and stupid.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It hasn't rained in months. I think my roses are dying.  
  
I shouldn't be surprised, the sudden lack of humidity in our atmosphere should have told me there'd be rough times ahead for the growing things of spring. That didn't stop me from feeling disappointed.  
  
I've always wondered exactly why I chose to live on Earth after the end of the war. Of course, I always loved its beauty and life, but the more logical, pleasant choice would have been to go back home to my colony. There was family waiting there, a familiar home ground and the best place I could have carried out my work from. It was the ideal, the good choice.  
  
Instead, I arranged to buy a house not far from Tokyo's city lights. Where I could have had acres of lush plantlife beyond my eyesight in the colonies, I chose to struggle keeping up this pitiful square piece of ground, covered in random flowers and grasses. My own garden, I guess. Not something bought or created by someone elses hands.  
  
Maybe that was why I was so disturbed, more than usual, at the end of my flower's lifelines. I knew as well as anyone that sometimes the weather wouldn't agree with these things, and it was only a matter of time before the silky petals wilted anyway. That didn't even begin to ease the clutching pain that hit me every time I saw them outside the study window.  
  
I could have had them live. If I weren't on Earth... but I was.  
  
There were solutions, of course, from technology to keep your flowers alive for great period of time, even if the rain wasn't coming down lately to revive them. But I didn't buy any. I let them fight to stay alive.  
  
It could've been bitter, if I hadn't been proud to see them every morning.  
  
But... just look at me- almost twenty now, and I feel like crying over some stupid plants. Forgetting, of course, that it was my hands that tended to them for hours since I lived here. Roses died every year. I should have been used to it.  
  
Maybe it was because Duo wanted to see me. I always get sad when he tries to talk to me.  
  
Thinking of the faint voice I'd heard from my old friend, I lean down to the dry ground on my knees, not bothering to care if my khakis get smudged with the crisp dirt. When I'd first moved here, years ago, the garden had started out more of a past timing, really. There was so much business to do with my company, even though I could have let my sisters run it, and it felt nice to have a relaxing habit besides music.  
  
I gently caress the striking petals of red with my pale fingers, wondering as usual at the graceful smooth curve of it, and feeling my heart weigh down as I see it droop listlessly again. They need something real besides the water I give them, they need the energy of real rain.   
  
I think I need it, too. I feel almost as listless as the roses do, tilting my head lower to the dead ground with a heavy feeling in my chest.   
  
It's not been the best of days... It never is on this date. Usually I would be down at the cemetary, meeting the others after so long, and trying not to remember things that hurt me. So far, it's almost noon, and I haven't moved an inch from my home to go there. I wonder if Duo's starting to understand I won't be coming this year.  
  
It wasn't that I didn't care anymore. Oh Allah, I cared. I cared so much it stung inside of me like a huge dagger ripping into my flesh.  
  
Water falls on the roses, but it's not any rain. I reach up to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.  
  
It's been so long. So many years, and I'm still trying to forget and live on normally, picking up the broken pieces raining on the floor. The war was easier to get over than this, even with all the deaths and destruction that evented from its beginning. I used to think that getting over my other losses was like a new battle in itself, and that the real wars were only just starting inside of me.  
  
Then, even as I thought that, I would think that maybe the wars inside had already torn everything from me. Maybe I would be empty someday, an angelic looking shell of nothing, and everyone would forget that Quatre Raberba Winner ever really existed. Or did I hope for that?  
  
There seemed to be so much hope in the world now, I mused. Carefully removing dead leaves from the stems of the rose I was bent over, I nearly smiled-- a wistful, sweet smile. Yes, there was hope in the world now. The war was over. Peace was at our fingertips, and so many willing to reach out to touch it in their awe of its light.  
  
Thank Allah, everyone's moving on. Everyone but me.  
  
Perhaps it's because I'm alone here now. It seems to me like everyone else has something or someone to go home to, while all I have are... well, dying roses. Maybe a few stray cats who keep coming back and banging against my back screen door, to my amusement. Sometimes I think maybe they really aren't only back for the food.  
  
I haven't kept in touch with many of the others for a long time, except when they come by for an odd visit. And then, we rarely say anything of any importance. Except for "I miss you, so very much."  
  
I know that Heero's been working with Duo lately, sharing an apartment with the braided pilot. It's really wonderful seeing him lately, because I've noticed that some influence in his life has given those cold, cobalt eyes a sudden warmth to them. Why wouldn't I be surprised if it was Duo?  
  
They'd always been close in some strange way during the war, holding a faint but easily seen bond. I feel myself smile widely for the first time in a long time as I think of what could be to come-- what they could have, if they let it.   
  
Of course, I hope the others are doing as well. I haven't seen Wufei for quite a while, but last I heard he was working with Sally at the Preventers still, doing his best to spread "justice" for the new generations after the war. I think he's also teaching as a part time job, picking up his scholary ways again now that he's found his place.  
  
Found his place. It sounds so... strange, doesn't it? It's got to be a wonderful feeling, to be where one belongs after so very long, after the war and bloodshed. I'm glad for him.  
  
Trowa comes to see me more, though. I think more than anyone, except maybe Duo, who comes more out of a fierce loyalty and respect. The silent, green eyed boy I know so well comes for a different reason-- he wants closure and reassurance I'm alright. I try to give it to him. And I love them both for caring enough to come.  
  
All of them. Sometimes I wish I had the courage to tell them when they were here, "I miss you..."  
  
We were always meant to stay a group and friends, you know. Allah knows it, and I always tried to show them. In a way, I think it worked, because we're still trying to keep in touch, and every year we've promised to see each other at least once at the same time.  
  
I'm... I'm sorry I won't be making it this year. Breaking a promise feels horrible in my stomach.  
  
My slender hands hesitate, and lift from the roses I was tending to, instead brushing at my face. They're shaking. Tears roll down my skin in streaks of silver and white molten liquid, feeling hot against my face, burning but almost blissfully so. Covering my now closed eyes with a hand, I feel my breath hitch.  
  
I miss them all so much sometimes. It hurts that I'm a coward.  
  
Sobbing done almost as soon as I started, I raise my face and remove my hand from where it cooly had sat. Blinking rapidly does help a little, and gradually, I know my shoulders will stop shaking. I've gotten used to these irregular mood swings.  
  
With a glance, I can see out beyond my modest front yard of garden and grass, through the white picket fence in the end. Very cliche, as Duo once said-- but I liked the fence, it made me feel safe and warm. As though I really were part of being "normal" in every way possible. Although I think the white paints peeling, why didn't I notice that?  
  
Outside, it's just a dirt packed road leading out, eventually merging with another road that leads to the city. I couldnt' stay in there, for many other reasons than just the fact I enjoyed the country more. Number one being that my heart couldn't stand the strain put on there sometimes-- the city holds more people with hurt, and my empathy isn't so resistant to it sometimes. Number two is much more simple-- out here, I can be myself.  
  
Noticing there doesn't seem to be a cloud in the sky, as usually, I sigh. My roses won't do to well if this hot weather keeps up. I'm used to the arid heat, but the ground isn't so accustomed, and it demands real water soon and fast and now. There's no way I can give it, but... Allah knows, I'm still praying for some.  
  
Maybe the reason I'm so protective of my garden is because of what it means to me in a way. Something I know I could take care of, to have something rely on me once again, like I desperatly need to have.  
  
I always wanted to watch something grow up. And now, I am.  
  
Both my roses, who are dying, and my friends... who are living. I want to watch them grow, too, and be there to grow with them. Part of me wonders-- why don't I? Why does it seem like I'm so... silent and alone? Why can't I touch them when they come, why can't I ever pick up the bravery to speak past the lump in my throat?  
  
Why do I sit here every day, never going to far or to long? I don't know. I don't know. Not anymore.  
  
If it rains, maybe I'll go and see some of them again. In fact, that's exactly what I'll do, I've made up my mind this instant-- as soon as it rains, I'll be able to go home to my friends, and that's when I'll be able to tell them how much I missed them. Then we can talk, and laugh like we used to do. I won't be staying home this year after all.  
  
I hope it rains soon, both for my roses and me now. We both need the energy to get going on, both of us to young to go out so soon. Maybe that's why I want them to live so badly this year.  
  
My hands flutter, touching the silky, fushia petals. They're beautiful, even as they're fading, ne?  
  
My blonde hair gently tounseled by the breeze makes me shake my head wildly to get it out of my eyes. Then I sit down, looking up at the sky a little bit more, before going inside my house to watch the clouds and wait for rain.  
  
I miss them so much, but soon it will all be okay again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Duo Maxwell slowly walked up the dirt path road, his long black trenchcoat dragging in the dust. The years had been kind to him, despite its pains and anguishes, and the violet-eyed man was still slender and well-built. His rich, dark chestnut braid now swung lower than his waist.  
  
To any usual passerby, it would seem the man wasn't looking for any particular thing. If you'd known him-- and very few did-- they would know sadly by looking at his heavy, dark eyes that he was indeed looking for something. A house, white and shuttered with a fence that needed a new paint job after so many years of neglect.  
  
He turned swiftly when he found it, entering the gate easily and watching the house with careful eyes. It was only after a few minutes he spoke, so soft it was almost inaudible.  
  
"Hey, buddy."  
  
Then, the man known as Duo walked up the pathway through a ragged garden of wild looking roses that had been allowed to grow up the walls of the house and fence, covering every inch in their colour. It almost seemed like they'd carpeted the very ground.  
  
When he got to the door, he paused and rummaged through his pockets for something. Coming up with a small silver key in one hand, Duo entered the silent house.  
  
The first room, obviously a living room by the comfortable sofa and furniture laying around in a tasteful decorational way, was thick with the quiet. The violet-eyed man stopped when he was inside, watching with soft eyes. He seemed to drink in the sight like a drowning man looked at land, taking everything in with his gaze.  
  
It'd been so long.  
  
"Way to long," Duo said outloud, unnatural in the silence. He shifted uneasily before relaxing almost right away, eased by the familiar air of the house that curled around him like a safety blanket. Quatre's home always had that effect on him, and never once did he take it for granted.  
  
Kicking off his dark boots, and placing them by the door as an afterminder since he knew his small Arabian friend would throw a fit if dirt marred the carpet, he sighed. After removing his black leather trenchcoat as an afterthought, the violet-eyed man walked into the kitchen next door.  
  
It was a nice, small kitchen-- what Duo always claimed, "Essence of cozy". It carried the feeling of the sweet, kind blonde inside of it, within its every wall. Even the curtains seemed to shimmer with the sunlight outside, faintly dusty in their owner's absence. The oak tables and dainty cuboards remained the perfect picture of a dreamhouse for someone who wanted cliche all the way. It didn't bother him-- it still made him feel safe, years later.  
  
Years later... With a heavy sigh, Duo put his hands on the counter top and leaned hard against them, his soft braid falling over his shoulder. His eyes were sad.  
  
"It was my twenty-eighth birthday last week. Didja know that, Quatre?" he whispered softly in the quiet of the house. "So where are you?"  
  
No one answered him, but he never expected one. Quatre Raberba Winner had died two years after the war ended.  
  
It's amazing, Duo thought to himself slowly. That the house looks exactly the same. It still feels like he's in here, still about to come through that door with an apologetic, sweet smile on his face to show he was sorry for being late. That the dark, aquarium blue eyes would meet his any moment, and he'd be chided for smudging the counter top.  
  
Outload, he added to absolutely no one, "Y'know, a card would've been nice. Maybe just a happy birthday, even. I... I miss ya, buddy." His indigo eyes darkened. "I miss ya so much..."  
  
Feeling the silence was to much, he cleared his throat, ignoring the lump growing there. Tried to forget how his dark eyes were filling with crystal tears against his own will.  
  
"Heero got me a really cool present this year, ya know. Chocolate and... get this... a teddy bear. That's right. A teddy bear. I had to smack 'im for it, cause you know that's what he gave that Relena woman. But he made up for it. Later."  
  
His hands gently caressed the smooth counter, as though remembering things from a long time ago, and he continued while watching them.  
  
"I think he's finally getting used to the idea that he loves me. Weird, huh? You'd think it wouldn't take the Perfect Soldier *that* long. But I guess... guy hasn't had much practice with that sorta stuff. Don't worry, he's getting over it all. He loves me, and I love him, and it's really great. Why didn't you tell me sooner how great he was?" Duo swallowed hard, resisting the urge to break down and sob on the floor, no matter how comforting it was.  
  
"Trowa an' Wufei are good. They send love. Or they would, if I'd bothered t'call 'em before I came. I bet Trowa'll come anyway, since it's the day that... you know. You left."  
  
He played with his braid, never looking up for fear he'd break down at the familiar sights around him. "It's strange... I never thought I'd get over this, y'know? But I'm still here. Years later. Shinigami hasn't killed off Heero yet, and I'm just tryin' to make my life work out. And... it's kinda working. I'm pretty happy.  
  
"I know you would have wanted to know that."  
  
Over the next few hours, Duo said a lot of things. Things that made no sense, things that were just memories they'd went through, and what was happening in the world right now. When he finally got tired of talking, he cried a little, unable to help it. Then he ran the water, washed the tear marks off his face until it was bright red, and fixed up the house.  
  
As the sun was setting, the slight figure left the abandoned house.  
  
Walking through the roses, Duo noted their condition, kicking lightly at the plants trying to curl around the yard possessively. None of them looked to good, like they were starved-- to bad, Quatre had loved those things...   
  
He blinked back more tears, smiled and left the gate open. Just like always.  
  
As he was continuing down the road, shoulders relaxed, and soft strange smile on his face, Duo felt much more at peace. It was strange, but somehow going there every year with the others helped-- he knew they'd be visiting later tonight.  
  
There was an omnious rumble in the distance, and the violet-eyed boy squinted up at the sky for a second. It was strangely bruised, with gentle sweeps of black mixed in with the usually bright blue.  
  
Duo stared wide-eyed. "Huh, funny..." His lips gaped, then transformed into a grin, because he knew the sight like the back of his hand. Warm feelings spread through him. Ducking his head, he continued down the road nimbly, trying to escape the downpour that would be coming soon.  
  
"Looks like it's gonna rain."  
  
He walked quickly home to his love's arms, wondering why he suddenly felt so safe.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
THE END- Waaah... told ya it was bad... ::sadly:: I need to get some good GW fics up on here, man. ^^;;  
  
AYI! Take care, everyone! Thaaaanks! (Leave the weapons on your way out, ne?)  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


End file.
